


Something There

by M3zzaTh3M3z



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Friendship, M/M, One-sided pining, post curtain call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-12-07 14:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/pseuds/M3zzaTh3M3z
Summary: When Wolfe walks into The Hunter's Folly one evening Voss realises he feels something far from Envy, and maybe has all along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Do I ship them? No! Do I live for one-sided pining fics? Absolutely!   
> I've had this idea like since that bit of Curtain Call came out so here you go!  
> Title from Beauty and the Beast because I listened to it at work the other week (:

Voss and Wolfe’s relationship with each other had always been… complicated, to say the least.

Scratch that – Wolfe had been straightforward from day one. Despite everything, he’d only ever seen a friend.

Voss was the one who’d complicated it, with jealousy and awe and last minute regrets and god knows what else. Even after he’d sworn to start anew shame and guilt and fear lingered, tangling his feelings into a great big knot. He wished he could see things as simply as Wolfe – but no, he was never going down that path again.

Exactly quite how complicated that knot of feelings was though wasn’t revealed until Wolfe walked into The Hunter’s Folly one evening with the sunset streaming through his golden hair and an easy smile on his face.

  _Ba-dum_ went Voss’ heart.

“ _Scheiβer,”_ he muttered.

Complicated just got worse.

 

Their paths hadn’t crossed since ‘Sin Day,’ and honestly, Voss hadn’t been sure he wanted them to. Or, he was pretty sure _he_ wanted them to, but he wasn’t sure if Wolfe felt the same. Maybe he’d entrusted him with the violin out of convenience. Maybe he’d let him escape the Captain to get him out of his hair.

Voss had considered leaving Widdershins. That was the smart choice. But where would he go? Back to Prussia? Scotland? France? There was nothing for him anywhere, not anymore. So he’d slipped away into the bushes and headed not for the train station, but the centre of town. It wasn’t like he was known for smart choices anyway.

For all the fuss when he’d arrived, once you took away the fancy clothes and jewels nobody remembered his face. Selling his suit and watch provided enough money for some plain clothes, a cloth eyepatch and a cramped room above The Hunter’s Folly. With no further plans, he decided to lay low for a while and figure things out.

Then the world went to hell. Magic remained a mystery to him but Voss was pretty sure it was his fault, so he’d done his best to help, but he always ruined everything and ended up _this close_ to killing Wolfe. Could he be any more of a failure?

Wolfe didn’t seem to see it that way. Of course he didn’t, he was too good a person for that. So good he believed Wolfe could be too, believed it enough to trust him with his violin. He’d believed Voss could be a good person and so Voss had _tried._

He wasn’t strong enough to face the Sins head on, so he went where they had been. He went to where his friends(?) had already succeeded and helped those he found there, cleaning up, offering comfort in broken English, reuniting children with their families when they’d been separated in the mess. Things he could imagine Wolfe doing.

At the end of the day Voss stumbled to the Malform Offices to find nothing but a fire-gutted husk. Nobody knew or cared where the inhabitants had gone, only that there were no bodies. Fear crept into Voss’ heart, but he shook his head and clutched the violin case closer to his chest, before heading back to the inn.

Unsurprisingly, the riots had passed there as well. When he walked in the owner, a middle-aged dark-skinned woman he’d never got the name of, was sweeping up a pile of broken glass.

Without waiting to be asked, he fetched a broom from behind the bar and began to help. When the glass was gone he hung the pictures back on the walls, and wiped down the surfaces, and set all the furniture back to how it should be.

“Good work,” the owner said as they righted the last table. “You’re very strong.” His English hadn’t disappeared entirely, just gone back to what it had been.

“ _Danke_ – uh – I mean, thank you,” Voss replied, pushing the table flush to the wall.

The owner said something else, a garbled rush of English he couldn’t follow, then cocked her head expectantly.

 “S-Sorry…” he stammered. “Slower? Please?”

“Would… you… like… a… job… here?”

Voss frowned. “A job?” Nobody had ever actually _offered_ him a job before; he’d always been reluctantly accepted because there was nobody better.

“Behind the bar,” she said, pointing. “And cleaning. You can have the room.”

The words were out his mouth almost before she’d finished. “Yes, please.”

“Perfect.” They shook on it. “Start at seven.”

 

So he’d begun work, slowly improving his English, scanning leftover newspapers every day for any mention of Wolfe’s name even if he could understand little else. Mostly, he checked the obituaries. Just in case.

After so much anxiety fearing for the only friendly face he had left, maybe the way his heart jumped when Wolfe walked in could be excused by relief. That’s what Voss told himself. Yeah, that had to be it.

“Oi, mind my drink,” one of the men sat at the bar snapped. A phrases Voss had picked up quickly.

He looked down – the pint he was pulling was almost overflowing.  “Sorry sir,” he muttered, hastily removing the glass. “Here you go.”

By the time he’d counted the change and wiped away the stray drops of beer, Voss had convinced himself he’d probably imagined the beat-skip of his heart anyway. Or he was feeling the strain of a long shift. Or there was another buggerup around. Whatever. It was fine. Wolfe hadn’t noticed him yet and probably wouldn’t, so he’d just keep his head down and collect his thoughts and maybe catch Wolfe to return the violin just as he left.

Then he looked up to meet Wolfe’s eyes across the room. Wolfe stared as the young lady at his side continued to chatter, then a grin spread across his face, like the sun finally breaking through an overcast day. “Voss, my friend!” he called, raising his arms in greeting. “How wonderful to see you again!”

 _Ba-dum._ This time the jolt in Voss’ chest was accompanied by growing heat around his collar. He might not be smart, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what this new strand in his knot of emotion was.

“ _Scheiβer,”_ he repeated under his breath, before breaking into a shaky smile of his own. “ _Hallo,_ Wolfe.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Wolfe nursed a pint for almost an hour as he filled Voss in on the past few weeks - the fire, the clean-up, the struggle with insurance and the search the missing Barber woman. Voss didn’t pay so much attention to his words as he did to Wolfe himself – his posture, his fluffy hair, the press of his fingertips into the pint glass as he cupped it, only occasionally remembering to drink. It felt unreal - Wolfe was _here_ , in _his_ bar, talking to _him_ , smiling, laughing, joking. Not angry or upset or ashamed, or maybe he pretended not to be for Voss’s sake.

Voss did the same for him.

Eventually, Wolfe glanced at the dark window and drained the last of his beer. “I’d better get back,” he said, still speaking German as they had done all evening. “It’s late, and tomorrow will be busy.”

“Uh, right,” Voss said. When he couldn’t think of anything to say next he picked up the empty glass and stacked it with the rest under the bar. Then a thought struck him. “Wait.” Jerking up, he smacked his head on the counter edge. “Hell,” he muttered, rubbing the sore spot. “Stupid thing.”

“Are you alright?” Wolfe asked, slightly amused.

Voss gave a cautious prod. “Don’t think I’m bleeding, so probably.”

Frowning, Wolfe leaned over the counter. “Lower your head,” he said. “Let me check.”

“It’s fine.”

“For my own peace of mind.”

Rolling his eyes, Voss did as he said. “You fuss about the stupidest things.”

“Oh, not at all,” Wolfe replied airily. “Only things that are worth it.”

Whether it was Wolfe’s words or the brush of his fingertips against his scalp, Voss shivered. Suddenly he was very glad Wolfe couldn’t see his face.

Then Wolfe’s hands were gone. “All clear.”

Voss blinked. “Huh?”

“Your head is fine, it is just a bruise.”

“Oh, right.” Voss smoothed his hair down. “I told you.”

The barstool scraped against the wooden floor as Wolfe stood, dragging Voss’ attention back to his original intent. “Wait a minute. I’ve got your violin upstairs, I’ll grab it.”

Wolfe looked around at the customers Voss was fairly sure had been trying to get his attention for the past ten minutes. “No, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work. Besides, it gives me an excuse to come back, no?”

“You don’t need an excuse,” Voss blurted out. “I mean, this is a bar. You don’t need a reason.”

“I know, but it’s nice to have one.” With a smile, Wolfe nodded his farewell and left.

 

Wolfe visited again a few days later, then a few days after that, and the next week as well. Even after picking up his violin, he kept returning, more and more frequently, for longer each time.

At least, Voss _thought_ it was more frequently and longer. Hopefully it wasn’t an overactive imagination. He’d never been accused of one before and now seemed the worst possible time to start.

It wasn’t like he was the sole reason for Wolfe’s visits. Often he’d arrive with someone (never the wizard or the weird Irish one though) or settle himself at a table of strangers. Admittedly, he did usually end up with Voss at the bar and his companions would soon wander off, unable to follow their quick German, but that proved nothing. At most, it meant Wolfe maybe, possibly, _potentially_ considered him a friend of sorts, but nothing more. And Voss would have to content himself with that – it was already far more than he deserved.

Still…

Envy of others, of their talents, good looks, easy charms, Voss was used to all that. Recently his struggle had been with a new kind of jealousy. Not directed at Wolfe, but those around him. The pretty men and women who always found their way to him. Not even envy of whatever it was Wolfe found so pleasing, but of their proximity, the time they stole without the slightest idea of its value, the way they smiled and laughed and batted their eyelashes because Wolfe was handsome and that was enough. They didn’t care about his good humour or skill with the violin or kindness, not the way Voss did. They only saw the surface. Not that Voss didn’t appreciate the surface (because he definitely did) but he liked to think if he _had_ to have an utterly hopeless crush it should be for slightly more profound reasons.

Hopeless was the word for it, so while Wolfe was there Voss did his best to ignore the complications and focus on their fragile new friendship. And if he occasionally indulged in other fantasies in the half-space between sleep and waking, well, nobody can help their dreams, right? And Wolfe would never know.

 

One evening, Wolfe turned up alone, and made his way direct to the bar.

Voss cleared his throat. “Hello, Wolfe,” he said carefully. “How are you? What can I get you?”

“You are speaking English, my friend!” Wolfe exclaimed, settling onto a stool with a smile. “You have been practising?”

Gesturing towards the bar in general, Voss gave a half-shrug. “They do not speak German.”

“Of course, necessity is an excellent teacher, no?”

“Uh.” Under the counter, Voss clenched his fist. He knew those words and that order, but an English reply was so slow and heavy to form in his mind and mouth.

Wolfe, naturally, was quick to pick up his struggle. “Would you prefer German?”

“No! I mean – I need practise. Please.” He’d thought he was ready to demonstrate his progress, hard-earnt through hours of muddled small-talk, but each felt stilted, mechanical. Voss wanted to sink into the floor. Wolfe’s English was so bright and lively – he no longer wanted to win, only to match him, as he had done that night of the duet. Surely he would soon tire of such a dull partner.

But Wolfe simply nodded. “Of course. You are doing very well already.”

“Thank you.” At least that one was easy enough. A smile crept onto Voss’ lips and he glanced away, before back to Wolfe. “A pint?”

“You know me well.”

“I try. I mean, uh –“ Voss busied himself with pulling the pint before he could embarrass himself further.

After taking a long draught, Wolfe set the glass down with a contented sigh. “Ah, most welcome after a long day. We have been repairing our house the best we can, but I am afraid it will take time.”

“I could help,” Voss offered instantly. “If you would like.”

“I would like very much,” Wolfe said, and Voss tried not to smile at the ‘very’, “but, ah, my friends… they are…” He trailed off with an apologetic shrug.

Voss’ shoulders sank. “They hate me. I understand.”

“No, they do not _hate_ you…” Fingers tapping a faint rhythm, Wolfe studied the grain of the bar’s surface. Then he looked up again. “Which day would you say is quietest here?”

“Tuesday, maybe? But what –“

Wolfe smiled like everything was settled. “I see. Now, did you hear the news about…”

 

That was Wednesday. Wolfe didn’t come by the rest of the week, or Monday. The longest without seeing each other for ages. By Tuesday night Voss’ knot of emotion was tight with anxiety. If he didn’t come tonight then –

As the thought crossed Voss’ mind, the door opened and Wolfe walked in. Voss didn’t bother trying to hide his smile, and was glad nobody could tell how his stomach flipped.

Then a second figure pushed through the door, wearing a black coat, a blue scarf and a scowl, and Voss’ stomach flipped again for a much less pleasant reason. It was the weird Irish one, one of Wolfe’s friends. They’d barely talked, but Voss got the sense he was much less forgiving than Wolfe. After all, Wolfe wasn’t the one who’d been shot.

Still, Voss did his best to extend the man a smile too. Wolfe beamed back, but his friend only narrowed his eyes and half-slumped onto the bar as they sat.

“A pint, please,” Wolfe said, then looked to his friend. “Mal?”

Mal – yes. When Voss had first read Wolfe’s name in the paper there’d been two others with it, Thackery and O’Malley. He’d never known which was which until now.

O’Malley shrugged, his shoulders closed in around his wiry frame, and stared down at the bar top.

“Make it two then,” Wolfe decided. “How have you been?”

 _Lonely without you,_ Voss wanted to reply, but instead said, “Not too bad, and you?” A normal, boring, safe answer.

As he got them their drinks, Voss overheard Wolfe checking on O’Malley in a low voice. “It is not too much for you, I hope?”

“’s fine, e’s a bit…” O’Malley waved his hands around his head, a gesture Voss had no clue how to interpret. “Better than as ‘e were though.”

Voss decided it was better to pretend not to have heard. Setting down the drinks, he forced another smile and tried to think of something to say. It was difficult with O’Malley’s piercing blue eyes staring into him. He cast about for another customer, an excuse to get away, but he’d been right in telling Wolfe it was their quietest time and there was nobody else but a few groups of students, already served.

O’Malley kept staring at him, though perhaps glaring, or even glowering would be a better term. Wolfe, apparently unaware of the tension, hummed as he looked around the bar and took a sip of his beer.

The words built in Voss’ throat until he couldn’t hold them back, clumsy English or not. “I am very sorry I shot you,” he blurted out.

“Ye said.”

“I did not mean then.”

“I know.”

Voss winced. “I really do now. And I am sorry for… the rest.”

“Hm.” O’Malley’s stare slid to a spot above Voss’ head; Voss glanced up but saw nothing but cobwebs in the rafters above.

“ _Mal,”_ Wolfe said gently, and O’Malley sighed.

“Fine, ‘e means it. So what?”

“You believe me?” The words slipped out, far more eager than Voss intended.

Gesturing above Voss’ head, O’Malley rolled his eyes. “Don’t have t’ _believe_ , do I?” ’s right there.”

Voss looked up again, squinting, but still saw nothing. Perhaps this was some English idiom? He looked to Wolfe for help, who frowned slightly in confusion.

“Mal is referring to his – ah – _talent_.”

“Talent?”

“Seeing spirits,” Wolfe explained in a low voice.

Voss stared at O’Malley, who was scowling at the both of them now. He didn’t look like a wizard. “You can see –?”

“Tell th’ whole bleedin’ world why don’t ye? Anyway, why’re ye surprised? Ye tried t’ take it from me.”

“ _That’s_ what that was? I never realised…”

O’Malley finally picked up his pint. “Yer really stupid, aren’t ye?”

“Probably,” Voss admitted, absentmindedly scooping up a rag and twisting it in his hands. Why had Wolfe bought O’Malley here? So he could be insulted? To prove a point? Didn’t he realise all the ways it could go wrong?

Wolfe’s forehead wrinkled as he looked between them. “Do no say such things about yourself, Voss. I will not have anyone talk about my friends like that.”

It took Voss few seconds to understand, and then a few more for it to sink in, before his face heated. “Oh. Thanks.” O’Malley was watching him with a strange expression now, and it made it harder to get the next words out. “But if I was not stupid, I would not still be in this town, serving beer to two people with good reason to hate me.”

Something like a snort of laughter escaped O’Malley, but he quickly covered it by taking a gulp of beer. “Gah.” Recoiling, his face scrunched up as he placed the glass down. “Worse’n I remembered.”

Wolfe chuckled and after a moment Voss quietly joined him, unable to hide his smile.

“What?” O’Malley snapped. “’s disgustin’, ye only like it ‘cause yer German, like ‘im,” he jabbed his thumb in Wolfe’s direction. “I know ye only buy me one ‘cause I always end up givin’ it ye.”

Holding up his hands, Wolfe affected an air of wounded innocence. “I would never do such a thing!”

“’cept fer every time ye got me a drink ever.”

Wolfe gave a mischievous smile, before draining his drink, while Mal squinted suspiciously at his own and took an experimental sip, as though it somehow might have improved in the past minute. Evidentally it had not, as he pulled another face and slid it along to Wolfe.

“You do not drink?” Voss asked, curious as to how Wolfe had got him here in the first place. O’Malley did not seem an easy person to get to do anything.

O’Malley shook his head. “Not enough t’ get used t’ it. An’ people are bad enough wi’out any drink in ‘em.”

“It can make people act unfortunately,” Wolfe agreed.

“Nah, they jus’ do what they wanted anyway. Gives ‘em an excuse is all.”

Wolfe caught Voss’ eye and winked, unknowingly sending his heart into overdrive. “It was certainly a common excuse in the army, no? The Christmas party, for example, one of my few fond memories of then.”

They’d only shared one Christmas in the army, and a lot of it was missing from Voss’ mind. The party had been in the town hall, banners and holly and mistletoe decking the halls to full festivity. There’d been a dinner, the officers at the high table and the common soldiers filling the rest of the room. Although they’d worn the same formal uniform, Voss had felt scruffy next to the impeccable Wolfe and had sulked all through the meal, drinking too much wine, until the dancing began.

Wolfe, naturally, had no problem in finding partners of either sex. Indeed, a veritable parade of admirers followed him all evening. Voss had followed too from afar, drinking alone on the edge of the room, sick with envy and cheap booze as Wolfe slipped away with a beautiful young woman. He hadn’t meant to follow, or so he told himself, but while looking to get some air he’d stumbled across them underneath some mistletoe and the jealousy had been too much to stomach. Literally. He’d run out to find somewhere to be sick and that was the last he remembered.

“Not much fond about it.” Voss twisted the rag tighter in his hands, his ears burning with shame. They’d had all that time to be friends properly, without this past between them, and he’d wasted it on what? Petty jealousy? “Everyone was lucky enough to be under the mistletoe but me.”

Chuckling, Wolfe shook his head. “Luck is nothing to do with it. Mistletoe is merely another excuse for people to do what they already want to, don’t you agree, Mal?”

O’Malley wrinkled his nose. “Leave me out o’ that stuff.”

“I think those who have someone they wish to meet under there will find a way to do so,” Wolfe continued. “I was talking about after the party though.”

“We went back together?”

“You do not remember? We had a long chat on a balcony, then we sang all the way home. I am afraid the Captain was not very pleased with us.”

Faint impressions swam through Voss’ mind. The balcony with Wolfe, drunkenly focusing on his elegant fingertips, hardly recognising his words but starting to smile anyway.  Staggering home with arms around each other for support, bellowing Christmas carols until they couldn’t speak for laughter. Wolfe’s strong hands guiding him into his bunk as he desperately tried to tell him something, his tongue too heavy to form the words. The uncovered images filled him with intense longing, not just for Wolfe but for the time they could have had if he’d felt the way he did now back then.

 Except…

Looking at Wolfe now, he had the same warm rush of feelings as from his memories, stronger and clearer now without the shroud of jealousy he’d always known, but identical at their core.

He really was stupid. It hadn’t been Wolfe he was jealous of that night. It had been his dance partners, and the woman under the mistletoe. _Those who have someone they wish to meet under there will find a way to do so,_ Wolfe had said, and isn’t that exactly what he’d done?

“Yes, I remember a little…” Voss said slowly, his head spinning from his revelation. This crush, or whatever it was, it was nothing new after all.

Wolfe’s hand rested on the bar top, his fingers lightly tapping through violin positions, and the urge to grab it seized Voss, as though by holding him tight enough he could convey all the new apologies he now realised he should give.

“Bloody hell.”

O’Malley’s muttered curse startled Voss out of his bubble. He looked down to find O’Malley practically goggling up at him, suspicion and bafflement taking over his face in turns.

“Are you alright, Mal?” Wolfe asked instantly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

One hand made it halfway to his shoulder before O’Malley lowered it again, shaking his head. “Yeah, fine. Remembered something. Nothin’ important.” Still he didn’t take his eyes off Voss.

There was something unsettling about his gaze, as though he knew something Voss didn’t. But then, he probably did if he could see spirits as Wolfe claimed.

Wait.

By spirits, Voss had assumed he meant creatures like Envy, but that wasn’t the only translation. Perhaps Wolfe had meant…

As the thought crossed Voss’ mind, he internally cringed, and his pulse leapt with panic. At the same moment, O’Malley frowned at the space above Voss’ head again, then met his eyes. In that instant, Voss knew he’d guessed right. O’Malley could see his emotions.

 ‘Bloody hell,’ was about right.

O’Malley turned to look around the room, then nudged Voss in the side. He pointed to a man at a far table. “Isn’t that bloke our neighbour?”

“I did not know you knew our neighbours,” Wolfe replied. “But yes, it is Mr Redd! I will be back in a moment.” He hopped off his stool and went to say hello.

Voss met O’Malley’s eyes again, wiping his damp palms on his trousers. “I guess you saw all of…”

To his surprise, O’Malley shifted on his stool, the tips of his ears reddening. “Aye.”

“I am very sorry,” Voss continued, tripping over the words in his haste to get them out. “You know it is not a feeling within control?”

“Not first-hand, but I see enough o’ it.”

“So… you are not angry?”

O’Malley shrugged. “Not ‘bout this. No point, not like ye did anythin’.”

“I promise I will not bother him with this, so please do not tell him. I do not want him to be angry with me… any more than he already is.”

“Angry?”

“About my… unwanted feelings.”

“Ah. Right.” O’Malley shook his head and muttered, almost to himself, “No good at this stuff.”

Something in his reply gave Voss pause. “They would not be unwanted?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Please O’Malley.” Voss laid both hands on the bar and leant forward, but his eyes were on Wolfe, not O’Malley. He let his emotion wash over him, concentrating on the happiness Wolfe bought him, and his desire to make him happy too. “I do not wish to hurt him.”

Scowling, O’Malley turned away. “Bleh, think I liked ye more when ye hated ‘im.” His expression softened as he too looked at Wolfe, and Voss wondered what he saw.

“Would he hate me for it?”

“I can’t go round tellin’–“

“Not using your power. As a friend.”

“Yer not my friend.”

“As _his_ friend.”

With a sigh, O’Malley slumped over the bar, wincing slightly. “Noisy in ‘ere.” Voss assumed he was talking about his Sight, rather than the voices, as though a few more customers had joined, there was still little more than a low buzz. “’e wouldn’t hate you,” O’Malley said eventually. “Not that ‘e hates anyone really.”

“But would it be… unwanted? Unwelcome?”

“Not _wanted._ But not _not_ wanted.”

Hope flared in Voss’ heart, perhaps literally from the way O’Malley’s eyes widened.

“Ye tried t’ kill us, an’ now ye-“

“I do not understand either,” Voss admitted. “Thank you for your help. And sorry again for… everything.”

“Not helpin’ _you._ Makin’ sure he’s alright.”

Voss smiled. “Close enough.”

O’Malley ran one hand over his face, back through his hair. “Ugh, had enough o’ this.” Without saying goodbye, he slid down from his stool and made his way over to Wolfe, who was still in conversation with Mr Redd. He nudged his shoulder and nodded to the door, making his way out. Wolfe followed moments later.

Voss watched him go, aware he probably looked an idiot smiling to himself but unable to care. Wolfe didn’t hate him, _wouldn’t_ hate him. Not that he could tell him yet, when everything was still so confusing and unclear and messy. Maybe someday. Someday, when he’d made amends. When he could speak better English. When O’Malley didn’t glare at him. When the idea didn’t make him sick with nerves. When he was the man Wolfe thought he could be. When he was someone Wolfe deserved. When he was sure something was there on both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe how much this got cut down? Chapter one, baby boy. Chapter two, absolute chunker.  
> Uh anyway yeah that's the Voss/Wolfe pining lowkey angst I've been imagining since I first read that book I hope you enjoyed! Somehow I love that terrible man (: all comments and kudos much appreciated! <3
> 
> *****
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, you might want to check out my others. I have fics in the [Supernatural,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=27) [ Osomatsu,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=7048385) [ Ace Attorney, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=1034737) [ Haikyuu,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=758208) [ Portal, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=83491) [ Boku No Hero Academia,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=3828398) [The Umbrella Academy ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=29744003)and [Widdershins fandoms, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/works?fandom_id=2511207) with more being added all the time. 
> 
> My widdershins/darken/somehow occasionally star trek I guess (?) blog is @buggerup-busters on tumblr


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